


Age of Innocence - The Behind the Scenes Remix

by allaire mikháil (allaire)



Series: Marks [2]
Category: Babylon 5
Genre: "Shadows Past and Present" is canon, "The Price of Peace" is canon, "To Dream in the City of Sorrows" is canon, Babylon 5 (1995) comics are canon, M/M, Pre-Slash, season 1 episode tags, select Babylon 5 novels are canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-04-07 06:51:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 11,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19079749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allaire/pseuds/allaire%20mikh%C3%A1il
Summary: "The wound is the place where the light enters you."~ RumiThis is the flip side to "Age of Innocence". Over the course of the first season ofBabylon 5, Michael Garibaldi comes to realize his true feelings for his friend... by thinking and talkingabout, but nottoJeff Sinclair.





	1. The far Reaches of Space

The woman gave a violent start that almost caused the contents of her cup to spill over the nav console when the comm gave a series of shrill beeps. She rubbed her eyes as though to swipe away the exhaustion, stared at the information about the origin of the transmission, hesitated a moment and then accepted the vid call.

The caller, however, wasn’t at all who she’d been expecting.

“Chief Garibaldi. I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re about the last person I thought would try to reach me.” A sudden fear made her add: “Is the station-- is Jeff--?”

“Captain Sykes, I’m sorry. Jeff Sinclair is okay, and so is Babylon 5. In fact, the last couple of days have been significantly less… adventurous… than the time you last spent here. Which brings me to the reason for my call.”

Carolyn Sykes once again swiped at her eyes, took a long swallow of her coffee and stared at Babylon 5’s chief of security, torn between relief, resentment and a sudden onset of fury that made her hands shake.

She made it through the chief’s long explanation as to why he needed to talk to someone with a comprehensive understanding of the Damocles sector from a trader’s perspective, through all of his questions and even through the beginning of a rather awkward goodbye before it erupted out of her: “Mr. Garibaldi, I would appreciate it if Jeff and you kept your distance from now on. I have no interest in talking to either of you in the future, so. Stay. Away.”

Garibaldi’s mouth opened and closed like a fish’s. Carolyn felt a spark of mean satisfaction and continued: “I can deal with having to come second to Jeff’s job, although perhaps he should have made it more clear to me that he would _never_ quit Earthforce to join me, but I refuse to stay in a relationship that’ll never go anywhere. If dear saintly Catherine ever deigned to take Jeff back, he’d drop me in a second. And if _you_ had ever seen him as more than a friend, he’d have booted me out of his quarters so quick I’d have left skid marks.”

She sent the man a final sneer before cutting the transmission. A small part of her hoped she’d set the cat among the pigeons, but the bigger part of her simply felt relief at closing this chapter of her life for good.

The humming of the _Ulysses_ ’ machines underneath her was comforting in its own way. Space, adventure and endless trading opportunities were waiting. Carolyn Sykes wouldn’t be caged in by _anyone_.


	2. Welcome to the Station

Susan rolled her eyes and ordered the next round. They'd decided against visiting the Fresh Air Restaurant and had instead picked the new 'in' bar in Red 5, just off the Zocalo, which had a rather surprising diverse selection of alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks, considering they had to import all the ingredients. Well, at least Chief Garibaldi was a relatively cheap date since he only drank water and soda.

The other patrons were... interesting. Susan had never seen so many different alien species in one place. She was sure that with at least half of them, she hadn't even known they _existed_. 

She looked back at her companion. Garibaldi was more or less sprawled in his seat and projected utter nonchalance. The whole thing was revealed to be an act, though, by the way his eyes kept flitting from one table to the other as well as the fact that his supposedly relaxed posture kept his link clear and the PPG on his left hip within easy reach.

If Susan had been a more junior officer, she would have either failed to recognize Garibaldi’s hyper alertness or else she’d have been pressing her back into a corner while clutching her gun.

“Mr. Garibaldi. I’ve been here for several months already, and so far, your security force has been doing an admirable job. Don’t tell me the chief is _never_ off-duty.”

Garibaldi sent her a reluctant smile. “I’m fine, Lieutenant Commander.”

“Susan, please. At least outside work.”

“Then it’s Michael. ‘Mister Garibaldi’ is a mouth-full.”

“True. Especially when called out by a certain ambassador we all know and love.”

Garibaldi snorted and almost choked on his mineral water. “In that sing-song Londo has perfected. ‘Mister GariBALdi!’, Good Lord.”

They chuckled together.

“The Commander and you are old friends, yes? Tell me, Michael, when did you meet and what can you tell me about the man behind the stern façade… aside from the fact that Sinclair likes the solitude of the Observation Dome?” Susan wasn't quite sure what to make of the commander yet. She envied his poise and self-confidence. In another man, they might have come across as arrogance; in Sinclair, they left you with an impression of sincerity and calmness. Despite his propensity for greeting her with her full rank, somehow she doubted he truly was a stickler for protocol.

“We met on Mars, after the War. He likes meditation, playing the hero, catholic mass and panna cotta,” Garibaldi shot back. Susan just stared, not sure whether or not to take him seriously. Apparently, Babylon 5 would continue to keep her on her toes.

She failed to hear his mutter of “…and apparently me” over the din.


	3. Metaphysical Contemplations

He stared at the man in front of him, willing himself to have misheard. “The Commander did _what_?!”

“He returned to duty as though nothing had happened,” Garibaldi muttered. “You don’t know him like I do. Where _do_ you know him from, anyway?”

“Don’t try to change the topic, Chief. Jeffrey Sinclair and I met on Earth in 2247, and that’s all I’m prepared to say. He is a man of great personal ethics, and I consider him a friend. As you do, I believe. Which is why I simply cannot understand how he could be so cavalier with his health, and why you would just stand by and let him! Those ribs need to heal, and gallivanting all over the station as though nothing had happened could land him back in medlab with something a lot more serious!”

Franklin was aware that he was overreacting a bit. It wasn’t as though the Commander was at death’s door, and offloading at the station’s chief of security wouldn’t leave his future colleague with a great impression of the new CMO’s character. He took a deep breath and tried to relax.

“I apologize, Mr. Garibaldi.”

“No need, doc. We’re all a little… disturbed… by the whole Minbari fairy tale coming to life. First of all, that the Minbari _do_ have horror stories they tell to their children, and second, that their bogeymen suddenly turn up in the flesh.” 

Franklin felt a flash of gratitude and nodded. “I’m not sure I believe that the so-called Soul Hunters actually manage to capture and imprison a person’s soul, but-- maybe some kind of energy--?” He trailed off. He considered himself a Foundationist. The concept of souls could be found in more religions than just Christianity. The idea of the Soul Hunter’s machine…

“Why did he have to give back the Soul Hunter’s entire equipment to the second of his… order? Religious sensibilities have no place when they might curtail essential research into—“

“I thought you knew Jeff, you said?” Garibaldi interrupted him heatedly. He’d taken his hands out of his pockets and seemed to have abandoned his laissez-faire attitude. “Science and research are important, but we, humans and aliens alike, need things like faith, personal beliefs, even organized religion. Faith in a higher power holds society together. I for one am glad we didn’t, and hopefully never will, find out how to forcefully keep around the souls, the dying thoughts, the last imprint – whatever! – of a recently departed person. The potential for misuse is far too great.”

He trailed off, shrugged, and turned to leave.

“But consider how something like that would revolutionize your work, Chief! The victims of capital crimes could identify their attacker, and—“

Garibaldi’s shoulders stiffened further and he turned around for a moment. “I’m with Commander Sinclair on this one, doc, I’m sorry. Nature forces us to let go, and I’m damn glad it does. Good Night.”


	4. Loose Lips

Her presence had been requested by all parties during the final stage of the treaty negotiations, although G’Kar had apparently developed an instinctive sneer at the sight of her. Talia sighed.

As thankful as she was that the Ambassador hadn’t approached her unlike her Corps predecessor with his outlandish offer of breeding Narn telepaths through ‘mating’, she was aware that she was on the verge of burning a bridge with one of the four major races the very idea of Babylon 5 was built upon. She hoped she’d soon get the opportunity to become helpful to G’Kar in a situation which didn’t violate her ethics.

She was glad the Commander had succeeded in saving the Centauri dancer and apparently managed to avoid a political scandal at the same time. Still. She wasn’t used to so much riding on her actions. She’d only been supposed to represent the Corps as well as ensure a not insignificant flow of credits for its support.

She leant against the closest bulkhead and massaged her temples. Dealing with Mollari and G’Kar’s mutual dislike – increased by their staffers’ feelings, although Mr. Cotto was an affable person when compared to Ko D'Ath – had caused a blazing headache.

She cursed the fact that there was literally _no way_ to shield against surface thoughts of a certain strength when in close proximity.

“I’d offer a penny for your thoughts, but I’m afraid that would be a play on words you’d strangle me for,” a male voice interrupted.

Talia looked up into Chief Garibaldi’s face and allowed him, despite her aching head, to tow her into the closest bar on the Zocalo and order her a tall glass of water that she used to swallow her migraine medication with.

He kept fidgeting with the stem of his glass. “Ms. Winters, we are not colleagues, but for all intents and purposes, we’ll encounter each other again and again in our official roles here. I would like to know more about your – and the PSI Corps’ – stance on confidentiality.” Garibaldi’s face was hard. “I have no doubt my surface thoughts are _screaming_ in your head right now, and I want to be sure you won’t mention them, no matter how indirectly, to _anyone_. I have to be frank: What I’ve heard from Commander Sinclair doesn’t exactly instill a lot of confidence in me that whatever I think of – and you accidentally read from me – stays a secret from others.”

Talia swallowed against her nausea. She'd known, dammit, she'd _known_ talking so freely to Commander Sinclair was skirting the edges of what was allowed according to the Corps' regulations. Garibaldi's thoughts were indeed blazing against the sore edges of her mind, and she immediately knew what he was afraid she'd discover and possibly share. His decisive manner was just an attempt at hiding how afraid he was. Afraid of what _Talia_ might do. _Oh God, what have I done?_


	5. A somber Occasion

He stood next to her and they both followed the silver tube drifting into space with their eyes, a lone man-made thing amidst an ocean of stars.

Somehow the female voice intoning, “From the stars we came and to the stars we return, from now until the end of time. We commit the body to the deep.” was the perfect epitaph. Her husband’s body wouldn’t return to Earth, frozen in stasis, handled like so much luggage, only to be buried in depleted Swedish soil. She thought he would have preferred this as a last journey.

The chief handed her a tissue when she couldn’t help but tear up again. She’d thought she had no more tears to shed ever since they’d notified her three days ago.

“Paul was such a good guy,” she whispered. “We’ve been married 15 years. Somehow we never had the kids we wanted, and when the Earth Alliance sought more workers, more officials, more support here on this space station, Paul came home one day and said he wanted us to move here. We had nothing holding us back, and he’d decided he wanted at least a little bit of adventure out of life before we were both too old. He’d been a customs agent for over two decades at this point, in orbit and on the ground. He could find and identify stuff even the scanners had problems with.”

Mr. Garibaldi put a hand on her shoulder, nothing but patience and the will to _listen_ on his face. Somehow it was this silent support that made her break into a miserable kind of crying fit she’d sworn she wouldn’t fall victim to.

When she could speak again, she tried to apologize, but he wouldn’t let her.

“Giving your husband a burial in space was the least thing we could do. Dr. Hendricks and Mr. Drake – if he survives – will be held accountable for what they did. Your husband tried to keep Babylon 5 safe to the best of his abilities, and was murdered for it. The funeral costs and the travel expenses for your return to Earth with the next transport will be on their heads. No matter whether they try to weasel out of it or not, the commander will make sure you never have to pay a single credit. Anything else would be a travesty.” He was so earnest, it was sweet.

She felt her lips tremble into a smile. “Please relay my thanks to Commander Sinclair, too, Mr. Garibaldi. This has been a horrible experience, but your support has been such a help. I heard what you both did in order to bring these horrible men to justice. I still can’t believe they were both so greedy they simply… offset their profit against a man’s life, and then—“

She couldn’t help but cry again, miserable, lost.

The door slid open and another man joined them. At first she only was aware of a blur of a dark blue uniform and dark hair, then she recognized the deep voice that offered her condolences.

“No, please, I’m not even here, Mrs. Johansson. Where I _should_ be is at a meeting of the Babylon 5 Advisory Council. I simply had to wish you a safe journey back to Earth, and to tell you—“

“No need, Commander Sinclair. Your Mr. Garibaldi has already done so much. Please, I don’t want to keep you from your work.” She looked at them where they stood, shoulder to shoulder, with identical somber faces and such a genuine desire to _help_ that she only hoped that great-cousin Hilma’s dire prediction of the station lasting less than five years would turn out to be nothing more than doomsaying. That old hag.


	6. A Contemplation of Heaven

"Your Lt. Commander Ivanova is a... how do you put it? A very good-looking female," Londo Mollari declared. He gestured expansively with his glass as was his wont. Their server in the casino swerved aside, but Londo didn't spill a single drop. Hah. The pale blue wine with its unique smokey flavor was far too delicious to waste. "She can hold her drink very well, and she knows how to celebrate. A bit of a sharp tongue perhaps, on occasion, but I like that in a woman." He laughed, but Mr. Garibaldi's lips didn't even twitch.

Any other evening, and Londo would have fallen victim to his most frequent companion, nostalgia, and attempted to cheer up his human friend by telling a story from his time on the old homeworld, but the chief's long face asked for more of an effort at empathy.

Urgh, empathy, not Londo's biggest strength. But then, according to Timov, Londo had--

He smashed his – thankfully empty – glass onto the table and watched it splinter into glittering shards. "This is not the time for maudlin thoughts, Mr. Garibaldi! We've made it through all of last week’s religious ceremonies! And I've greeted more holy men and women from Earth than I thought even lived on the station! Your monk... I forgot what faith the commander said he belonged to... your monk wore such colorful robes and had such a nice gleaming head, although she would have been even more impressive if she had decided to keep a single braid of hair." He stared at Garibaldi and let his usual levity fall away. "But you are not here to drink and be merry, my friend. For one, you _never_ drink alcohol. For the other, you are not at all in a merry mood. Come on, tell me what is weighing on you!"

Londo might not be prepared to expend a lot of effort if the human's problem was a significant one, but companionship and a willing ear was something he was more than willing to provide. Also, he hated it when people were in a bad mood. It was like they spread little invisible puddles of depression all around that an unsuspecting person might step into. Brrr.

"I--I'm thinking. Ahem. About getting together again and again with a woman who is bad for you. When you spend time together, it's like you're in seventh heaven--"

"Terran belief has seven heavens? Which one of your faiths is that? All of them?" Londo couldn't help but interrupt. Imagine! Seven heavenly spheres!

"Figure of speech. You're deliriously happy, but only for a time. You're just too different. You fight, you split up, you swear you'll never see each other again. A couple of months later, it doesn't hurt so much anymore, but then chance brings you together again and the entire loop begins anew." Garibaldi stared into his glass of boring mineral water as though it held the secrets to the universe. "Isn't that like an addiction? Shouldn't you try to-- to resist, harden your heart, stand firm, all that crap?"

"Ah, but that is rationality, Mr. Garibaldi. Love is the opposite of logical. In Centauri society, a man chooses a supportive spouse – or spouses – to run his household and cover his back from all those who might not wield a literal blade, but wouldn't hesitate to stab you with a metaphorical one." He sighed, thinking of Adira. "Love is beautiful, but it is ephemeral, transient, like a temporary intoxication. It cannot be part of everyday life."

"On Earth, we have a saying about grabbing your brass ring and holding onto it," the human muttered, "Don't kill my trust in the existence of love, Londo, please. But I believe love should be good for you, not bad. It sure as hell shouldn't hurt."


	7. Old friends, old Mysteries

"Is there really nothing one of your people can do?" From the almost resigned tone of the question, he heard that the man at the other end of the transmission knew the answer as well as he did.

"I've sent you everything I have, Mike. Anything digital we could glean from data storage. Believe me, our hacker is very, _very_ good. You want more than that, you have to find someone to beard the proverbial lion in its den, and by that, I mean be either mad or powerful enough to walk into Psi Corps headquarters and start asking pointed questions." Terrence shrugged and leant back in his chair.

Garibaldi sighed and copied him on that space station of his. _His_ chair looked way more comfortable. Which only showed that going legal seemed to have at least some advantages.

"I've gone through legitimate channels and so has the commander. I've tried going at it sideways. Still, there's no current data on Lyta Alexander. It's as though she's disappeared once she'd arrived back on Earth. She had an interview at Psi Corps Headquarters in Earthdome, and that's the last time she showed up digitally." He could see Garibaldi digging his fingers into his neck on screen and could only imagine the man's frustration. They were both out of ideas.

"She has no living relatives that I could find, and no friends who aren't teeps themselves. The storage unit she rented before she departed for Babylon 5 still exists, but it's empty." He spread his arms and admitted, "I'm afraid this is it, Mike.

"Why are you digging into the Corps anyway? Don't you have enough problems with aliens, or, hell, especially having to smile and make nice with the contingent of boneheads who clutter up your station in the guise of 'diplomats'?"

"Honestly, they're not so bad," Garibaldi admitted. He grimaced. "Yes, I never thought I'd say something like that, but it's true. Ambassador Delenn and her attaché are surprisingly easy-going and adaptable. But that seems to be because they belong to the Minbari religious caste, not their warriors. Of course, I'm still convinced that every other statement out of Delenn's mouth is a lie, but at least she doesn't seem to think we're all a bunch of wild animals who need to be put down for daring to breathe the same air as them. Between the Narn and the Centauri ambassador, she's the peacemaker. Plus she gets along real well with Sinclair."

"With Sinclair? The hero of the Battle of the Line? No way." Terrence had met Sinclair just once. The man could have stepped out of a propaganda vid for joining Earthforce. Reserved, good-looking, but decisive and with a ruthless streak when needed. Born to wear a uniform. He'd never understood what that man had in common with _Michael Garibaldi_.

"No, it's true," Garibaldi protested. "Must be that religious upbringing of his. I'm not certain that between the three of us - ground pounders and pilot -, he's the one with the fewest nightmares about the War, but he doesn't let that stop him. I'm trying to teach Ambassador Delenn about Terran media; he has _philosophical discussions_ with her. Sometimes I think the whole universe has gone mad."


	8. Divisions

“Aren't you just as glad as I am that everything's finally back to normal?” Garibaldi asked. Jack Benedict nodded wordlessly.

Yesterday, they'd drunk two liters of water at the end of their shift, having sweated through all the layers of security uniform and riot gear on their bodies, and had almost climbed out of their skin with the need for a vibe shower. But then, yesterday they'd tried to keep a bunch of aliens from following G'Kar's incendiary speech and... what? Form a militia? Attack anyone human who crossed their paths and looked at them funny? Prove everyone right who thought they were freaks who should stay off a station manned, protected and financed mainly by Earth?

“Normal sure is relative, Chief. Apparently it includes humanoid fishes discussing the pros and cons of crop rotation.” Admittedly the joke was weak, but the chief's face didn't change in the slightest. Come on, it had been at least a bit funny! The Abbai delegation _did_ look a lot like bipedal fishes of a very unfortunate color, what with the fin on the top their head.

“Normal at least means that G'Kar's attempts at creating discord are limited to riling up Mollari and annoying me by claiming he gets treated differently than the other ambassadors by the command staff,” Garibaldi groaned.

“I'm sure that deep, deep inside Ambassador G'Kar loves you,” Jack said deadpan. Secretly, the thought it was a shame G'Kar hadn't been the Narn on the station who'd lost their life due to an airlock malfunction - that aide of his had been rude, but at least straight-forward. G'Kar-- G'Kar was just the type to stab you from behind and then claim it had been an accident to boot.

“Because he appreciated being forced to abandon his audience that was hanging onto his every word in order to avoid being charged with inciting to riot. Sure. If looks could kill--” Garibaldi rolled his eyes.

“Talking about looks that could fell you at ten paces,” Jack began pointedly. “The commander glared at Biggs so hard that I wouldn't have been surprised to find a hole in the hull of the transport shuttle, and the lieutenant commander finished the guy off by verbally flaying whatever was left.”

“Yeah, it's almost as though Sinclair can shoot lasers out of his eyes,” Garibaldi confirmed with a grin. “I think he was simply sick of having to play to Biggs' prejudices. Ever since the reception, he was looking as though he wanted to throw up. The whole charade was all a bit too direct and heavy-handed in my opinion, but Biggs swallowed it up like a fool. I believe Ivanova gets credit for keeping him off-balance. I can't say how happy I am that that piece of trash is off the station.”

Jack just thought it was nice to know where the chief stood. All the way with his friend, the commander, and B5's alien population.


	9. A secret Inquiry

A silent figure was patiently waiting for her when she stepped out of the meeting room she'd occupied for three hours of tedious negotiations between a mining corporation and a prospector.

“Mr. Garibaldi. What brings you by... and at this late hour, no less?”

“I need to talk to you.” He fell into step with her. There was nothing flirtatious in his voice, and even his surface thoughts lacked the usual flash of subconscious attraction to her she'd gotten used to.

“I assume it can't wait until a more reasonable time tomorrow?” Talia asked fatalistically. He wouldn't have been lying in wait for her for a triviality.

“I wish.” He remained close-mouthed until they'd reached a small bar tucked into a corner of one of the Zocalo's quieter sides, ordered (a mineral water for him, a coffee for her) and been left in peace by the owner slash bartender.

“You've heard all about what happened to the commander, haven't you?” His fingers were tapping a quiet tattoo against the brown fabric of his uniform pants.

“Hard not to,” she admitted. “I trust he is wholly recovered from the kidnapping?” It had been sobering news that someone – especially someone as high-profile as the _station commander_ – could be abducted and kept prisoner for as long as eleven hours before being rescued. Although, according to what she'd heard, Sinclair had done most of the rescuing himself.

“That's the reason I needed to see you for, actually.” Garibaldi hesitated, took a deep breath and continued: “Are you familiar with a cybernet and what it does, Ms. Winters?”

She gave a slow nod. Her knowledge of wholly technical inventions used for mind and memory alterations was entirely theoretical; there had been a course at the Academy emphasizing that trying to manipulate the brain by means as crude as this was pure folly. That what was psychiatric service telepaths were for.

“I am,” she confirmed. “An old instructor of mine called it a butcher knife when compared to treatment by a medically licensed telepath.”

Garibaldi sighed and deflated. “I can guess the rest. So, if I say I know someone who was suffering from the aftereffects of a mental attack or the deletion of certain memories, you'd refer me to a telepath licensed for psychiatric care and treatment. Am I correct in thinking that there is only a handful of them? That they have a very high psi rating... P-8 or more, perhaps? That they are rigorously trained and monitored, and that any such treatment has to be registered with Psi Corps and recorded in the patient's medical files?”

“Yes to all of it. And it's P-9, actually. One would think that telepathic treatment in the cases of severe mental disorders would be a well-established branch of the Corps, but – mundanes distrust telepaths enough that they'd rather be medicated for the rest of their lives than let one of _us_ try to eradicate the root of the problem.” She held up a hand and stopped the sharp rejoinder she could see forming on his lips: “I am aware, Mr. Garibaldi, that such treatment has a ton of ethical implications we needn't debate. In short? The 'someone' on whose behalf you're asking should count themselves lucky to have you as a friend. But even if I were willing to break Psi Corps regulations, I'm neither powerful nor experienced enough to be of any help.”


	10. Sweet

“How are you holding up after this week from hell?”

Susan refused to lift her head from where she'd buried it between her arms on the top of the table in the mess. “Do I look like I'm holding up _anything_?” she asked, her voice muffled.

“I come bearing gifts,” Garibaldi's voice taunted her.

“Gifts?” She raised her head and blinked, vaguely aware that at least part of her hair had escaped its tightly braided plait and was most likely making her look like a crazy woman.

“Well, _a_ gift,” Garibaldi amended. A small metal tin was placed in front of her. “Jeff sends his apologies,” Garibaldi relayed to her. “He's in the middle of composing the detailed report on the whole Deathwalker mess Senator Hidoshi has... well, maybe I should say 'requested', but it's more like 'demanded'. The Vorlons have outmaneuvered EarthGov; it’s not like sending a strongly worded diplomatic protest to the Vorlon homeworld is going to lead to anything.” He dropped into the chair opposite with a huff. “Anyway, this is a thank-you for going above and beyond in keeping the League from firing onto the station.”

Curious, she opened the tin and nearly swooned at the smell of chocolate. “Cocoa,” she breathed. “Real cocoa.”

“I know you're a coffee kind of gal,” Garibaldi admitted, “but I had a hunch you wouldn't say no to this either.”

“Please tell the commander that I'm more than ready and willing to sweet-talk scores of Drazi, Brakiri, Markabs, Pak'ma'ra and Gaim if this is how he plans to show his appreciation.” She tried to tame her hair, but a single sweep of her hand along her dissolving braid made it clear that that was a hopeless endeavor. “Still, I think I'll pray that Babylon 5 never comes _that_ close to annihilation again. Of course we could have destroyed a lot of the smaller ships, but not without taking damage. And even a single pulse fired would have done irreparable damage to the idea behind the Babylon Project.”

Garibaldi grinned at her. “I'm amazed – are you _sure_ you're not six foot one, male, with brown eyes, dark hair and a gravelly voice? You sound just like Jeff.”

She said archly: “And _I_ am amazed that you apparently know Sinclair's exact height. Somehow I'm convinced that you could have described his eye and hair color much more accurately if you'd tried. ‘Brown’ and ‘dark’? How vague of you.”

Inexplicably and to her delight, he blushed violently.

 


	11. A guilty Thing

Franklin had left the gardens in Red Sector a while ago, lost another hour or so on the concourse and had finally would up in the casino. Far from cheering him up, the bright, artificial merriment surrounding him had given him a persistent headache. A part of him insisted that that was exactly what he _deserved_.

Ambassador Mollari was holding court at one of the gaming tables. There was an explosion of noise each time he threw the dice, and the shrill exclamations of his audience were making his head throb.

He knew Maya Henderson was having a good cry in her quarters, but he found himself at a bit of a loss. He didn't want to drink himself stupid. Returning to medlab or to his quarters was also out of the question. He had no intention of destroying any medical equipment or part of his personal belongings, and he knew that was where he was headed if he did so.

"I'm taking you to the flight simulator in Yellow 8," a voice interrupted his increasingly despondent thoughts. "If someone needs the chance to blow up a fleet of virtual raider ships, I think that's you today, doc."

"Chief." Franklin wasn't in the mood for interaction with a colleague, and especially not with someone he had a strong inkling had taken the commander's side and was biting back words of censure. He felt bad enough by himself already; he had no need to have someone else question his actions and his short-sightedness.

_Just tell the truth, your ethics, Stephen._

"I don't hit someone who's down, doc. I meant it: You, me, the SA-23E Mitchell-Hyundyne Starfury flight sim. It's a tried and true way of letting off steam."

"We have access to a flight simulator?" He'd hitchhiked his way across much of known space, but in the whole three years of doing so, he'd never been required to pilot a single ship that didn't also have an autopilot, and he'd certainly never flown a fighter. He felt a touch of curiosity almost despite himself.

"Strictly speaking, _we_ don't. One has to be authorized to fly the real thing in order to use the sim, and that is only true for the starfury pilots, part of the command staff and an even smaller percentage of my guys from security who've kept their qualifications up-to-date." Garibaldi smiled, but without the edge Franklin had come to expect. "You know, you're not the only one who's blaming themselves."

"Ambassador Mollari is _blaming himself_?" Franklin asked archly and tipped his head into the Centauri ambassador's direction. As if on cue, another cheer erupted from the throng.

"Hah. Not Londo. And certainly not G'Kar. But I'm betting that Delenn is asking herself whether she could have done anything to help, and Jeff sure as hell--"

"Can we please not talk about the commander tonight? I know he is your friend even more so than mine, but I just can't... he..." Franklin couldn't find the words. He knew it was unfair to blame Sinclair for his own decision to play god. It was _him_ who had failed poor Shon, plain and simple. "Thank you, Mr. Garibaldi. That flight simulator sounds like a great idea," he said firmly and got up. Perhaps blowing up some virtual starships would help.


	12. Old Wounds

The vid was waiting for her when she got back into her tiny apartment after her shift. She'd have preferred a good six hours of uninterrupted sleep, but with Lianna's packed, hectic itinerary - just imagine, her daughter was traveling with the _president_ I - she'd gotten into the habit of watching any message left for her as soon as she could.

"Computer, play message." She'd never seen the carrier symbol before and stared at the 'Babcom' logo in tired confusion before it dissolved into the face of a man she hadn't seen or talked to in seventeen years.

"Hi, Diane." The attempt at a charming smile was unsuccessful and just directed her gaze to the slight discoloration around the left eye socket and the closed cut in the brow above. "I met Lianna today. I assume you've already heard from her, and even if you haven't, don't you worry about whatever they say on ISN, your daughter is fine. She prevented an act of sabotage on Babylon 5 - the space station I work on - and is on her way back to Earth in President Santiago's entourage.

"We-- Lianna and I, we worked at cross purposes during the investigation, didn't see eye to eye until almost to the end. But she's a bright, resourceful, competent young woman who I'm sure will go very far. Presidential security detail at her age? That's impressive." Mike Garibaldi didn't look like he'd aged much. The hairline had crept back a bit more, the lines around his mouth had gotten a bit deeper, but the man was still clearly the same as the one who'd used to be a constant in her and Frank's home on Europa.

"I wanted to apologize. For putting Frank in danger, for underestimating the enemies I'd made, for just accepting the blame instead of getting justice for Frank's death. You and Lianna, you deserved better. I was tired of fighting, and so I just tucked in my tail and ran."

"Computer, pause playback." She held back the hot, sudden burn in her eyes and finally surprised herself by yelling at the screen: "Mike, damn you, you didn't just run, you made a fucking spectacle out of yourself when your own security guys had to drag you onto the shuttle you'd agreed to leave with, drunk and belligerent and _pathetic_!" This time the sob broke free. "You were like an uncle to Lianna, remember? She was heartbroken afterwards. There wasn't even enough of her father left for a funeral, and she had to deal with uncle in all but blood being badmouthed by everyone."

She fell silent and admitted, "And the wagging tongues didn't stop there. I bet you never heard the worst rumors. That it hadn't been your negligence that caused Frank's shuttle to explode, but that you'd planned it all in order to get rid of him because we'd been sleeping together in secret. Lianna and I, we couldn't stay. I had to beg Frank's sister to forward us the credits so we could leave the system just shortly after you did."

It took a long moment for her to compose herself enough to resume watching the message.

"I'm back on the wagon. Again. I have friends here. Jeff. Susan. They hold me accountable. They make me want to try to do better." He tried to smile. "That look in Lianna's eyes is... lighter, I think. The two of us might have gained some closure. If you can ever imagine wanting to talk to me, give me a call. No matter the time. I wish you all the best, Diane. Garibaldi out."

The smile, crooked and careful, stayed with her.


	13. The Impossibility of Doing Right by All

"I commend your loyalty to Commander Sinclair, Mr. Garibaldi and Lieutenant Commander Ivanova." She was fuming internally and not afraid to show it. The nerve of the man! This was _the second time_ she had been made to feel like a petitioner or worse, a door-to-door saleswoman scrambling after the oh-so important station commander, and. She. Was. Sick. Of. It!

Mr. Garibaldi might be trying to smooth things over - although his ah-shucks mentality was getting old, fast! - but that harridan, Ivanova, wasn't someone Mary Ann was at all willing to get close to. The Russian reminded her of a badly trained attack dog that shouldn't be allowed into the open without a damned choke chain and a muzzle.

If only she'd stayed on Earth. She might have already been tapped for an anchor position, dammit!

"I told you, it's Michael."

She just glared at him and was reluctantly impressed when his genial expression didn't slip in the slightest.

"Let me see if we understand each other correctly," she summarized. "You want ISN to provide a platform for the Dockers Guild and its union rep, Ms. Connally, to tell their side of the story, humanize their struggle, expound on their reasons for the strike, blahblahblah." She waved a negligent hand and enjoyed the way Ivanova's features iced over. "That way, you get to present Commander Sinclair's unprecedented interpretation of the provisions of the Rush Act as a conciliatory stroke of genius. After all, it only guaranteed the poor, suffering dock workers the bare living wage, kept Babylon 5's docks operational and didn't, in any way, shape or form, show Sinclair caving into what was essentially blackmail."

"Now wait just a minute--"

"Because, being Mars-born himself, he wasn't prepared for a re-enactment of the Martian Food Riots on his station," she finished coolly.

Garibaldi's nonchalance was gone all of a sudden. Apparently he couldn't stand his friend getting criticized. "Commander Sinclair _served_ on Mars, as an Earthforce officer, in 2251. He managed to uphold his oath while running the cleanest unit during the uprising. You want to insinuate that he is too weak to make the hard decisions?" He breathed heavily for a moment before continuing: "Tell me, what are the odds of this station lasting three years according to your viewers? Astronomical, right? Ever thought of the reason for that? No matter what certain people on Earth seem to think, 'diplomacy' and 'compromise' aren't dirty words."

This was finally getting interesting! "Would you be willing to repeat this on camera, Mr. Garibaldi?"


	14. Shadows Looming

"I don’t even know why I have told you this," he moaned and raised his hand at the barkeep to order another drink. "It’s not like you can do anything."

“I’ll make what inquiries I can, Londo, I promise,” the human assured him and patted his shoulder. Londo wondered how pathetic he must look. There was no reason to be so maudlin, was there? The Eye had been found again and handed over to him without asking for a single credit in recompense. He wouldn’t be ordered back to Centauri Prime in disgrace.

“What do I _want_? To not feel like a gullible old fool for once,” he mumbled to himself. None of what he’d said to that annoying man had been a lie. And yet, and yet…

“Excuse me?”

“It is nothing, my good friend. Lady Ladira told Commander Sinclair about what the Eye means to the Centauri Empire, right? Well, as much as it means to the Emperor, it holds just as much meaning for her house.” He took a deep swallow and admitted: “For the Eye to be… taken… from the Raiders, without being accompanied by Lord Kiro, it most likely means that Lord Kiro is no longer with us.”

“I liked the guy,” Mr. Garibaldi said. “It was very courageous of him to interfere and force your attacker to settle for only one hostage.” He played with the cocktail Londo had shoved at him, but didn’t raise the glass to his lips. He was a fool to turn down a free drink, Londo thought uncharitably. Look, it even had one of those tiny, colorful umbrellas! Avoiding alcohol made _no sense at all_. How else was one supposed to get through the tedium of each day?

“And quite possibly he saved your commander’s life in the process, yes,” Londo pointed out. “Sinclair’s plan was sound. No one expected the Raiders to have a ship with a jump-point vortex generator.”

“I have to admit I expected a different reaction from you, Londo.” Just like always, when Commander Sinclair was mentioned favorably in Mr. Garibaldi’s presence, there was a certain softness to the human’s expression. Feh! Supposedly they were only friends. Well, Londo had his doubts about that.

“You thought I would rant and rave, perhaps prepare a sharply worded reprimand for my government to send to yours, right? No need. You all did your best. Perhaps it was fate.” Secretly, Londo thought it much more likely that it had been _himself_ who’d inadvertently helped fate along. Mr. Reno and his associates were not exactly of the discreet and noble sort. Londo suspected that the man had let something slip to the Raiders – for a handsome amount of credits, of course –, and he couldn’t help but feel an uncomfortable, gnawing disquiet in his guts that his unguarded words to that Mr. Morden might have set certain events in motion that possibly led to Lord Kiro’s death.

“Don’t talk about fate, please. The commander is still shaken by the vision shown to him by your Lady Ladira,” Mr. Garibaldi confessed. “He also said the Centauri all have at least a small gift for prophecy. Tell me, should I be worried about the station going boom?”


	15. Miles between

He dropped the leather folder with his identicard and credit chit into the stupid glass bowl in the foyer and hollered: “I'm home, sis!”, but got no response. Apparently Evelyn was still at work. Well, if he couldn't talk to his sister, he could talk to a friend. And the last couple of years certainly had shown him who his true friends were, hadn't they?

A call to Mike's station wasn't cheap, the computer informed him, but the endorsement deal he'd signed this morning came with quite a few zeros attached, after all.

It didn't take long before the call connected and Mike Garibaldi's face showed up on his screen. Apparently he'd just caught his friend after the end of his shift; he was shrugging out of his uniform jacket and looking like he was looking forward to some downtime.

"Walker! Is everything okay?"

He couldn't suppress a wide grin. "More than okay, man! There was an ISN crew lying in wait once I'd disembarked--"

"Nice interview." Garibaldi interrupted.

"Of course you've watched it. Well, you're now talking to a man who's been snatched up by only _the_ most important boxing agent in the entire Earth Alliance!"

The shot the shit for a good long while, but Mike's dejected mood didn't seem to change much.

“Well, now that you've heard all about my triumphant return, it's time for you to unburden your heart. What is it? Girl trouble? Friend trouble? Work trouble?”

Garibaldi made a face. “All of the above, I guess. You told me the rabbi you traveled to the station with invited you--”

“--to sit shiva with him and a small congregation of local Jews? Yeah. But I didn't get the message until after the fight with Gyor, and by then it was too late.”

“Well, that was the wake for the father of a friend of mine, Susan Ivanova. Only _I_ never got invited. My best friend did.”

“That Sinclair guy? The one who'd gone incommunicado when you tried to invite to my match?”

Mike's face made some... interesting... contortions at _that_ mention. Walker wanted to crow and tease his friend on having a crush on either the stunning female Russian (the rabbi had shown him pictures!) or the handsome guy whose face had become synonymous with B5 on the news. A second look at Garibaldi's face convinced him to keep his mouth shut. Whatever his friend was feeling, apparently it wasn't yet time to tease him about it.


	16. Spirituality and You

„Mr. Garibaldi, wait!“ The human turned around and remained standing next to the bulkhead that constituted the end of the ambassadorial quarters so that Lennier could catch up to him.

“I wanted to express my gratitude for the Terran… movie?... you provided on the legend of the Holy Grail,” Lennier said after he’d taken a deep breath. “It was very educational.”

They fell in step with each other and continued on to the transport tubes, Garibaldi with his hands in his pockets, Lennier with his folded behind his back.

“You _are_ aware that the story line was a conglomerate of legend, dramatization and fantasy, right?” Babylon 5’s chief of security asked. “I hope you didn’t take it as fact. It was meant to entertain. In my opinion, it’s the best depiction of the Arthurian myth you can find.”

“I might have missed a bit of the historical context,” Lennier admitted, “and my research led me to believe that ‘magic’ as exhibited by Myrddin Emrys and Nimuë has never existent on Earth. Is that incorrect?”

Garibaldi smiled. Lennier thought he could detect a certain amount of tiredness in his expression. “No, your initial research was accurate. Aside from telepathy and a bit of telekinesis, magic is thought to be imaginary back home. The legend of King Arthur has been interpreted and exploited in many different ways over the centuries. The grail is thought to be a symbol of divine grace that heals the sick, feeds the hungry and gives eternal youth. “ He stopped talking rather abruptly, gave an almost silent laugh and said: “Apparently some things stick with you over the years, lapsed Catholic or not.”

Lennier remembered the myriad of human men and women representing all the different religions of Earth that Commander Sinclair had gathered and the Catholic priest he’d had a rather mystifying talk with. “Seeking for it sounds like a worthy endeavor then,” he said tentatively.

“That depends.” The human looked less than enthused. “In legend, the search for the grail is said to have been one of the two elements that divided the Round Table and brought about the end of King Arthur’s rule. I always thought the grail was a metaphor for how obsession – even with a generally benevolent thing – can lead to ruin.”

“But to be a true seeker is to be called to a holy purpose!” Lennier returned indignantly.

“But for what end? Just take Thomas. As happy as I am that he has found some meaning in his new life, I wonder whether the credits he inherited as Aldous Gajic’s successor couldn’t be put to better use by helping people in the here and now rather than wasting them on a fool’s errant,” Garibaldi retorted. “His ‘holy purpose’ sounds much more like egotism to me. It might provide _him_ with peace of mind, but--”

Lennier was so offended that he couldn’t find any words at first, but they finally broke out of him: “I simply _cannot_ understand how your species can be so untouched by spirituality. Not everything can be found in the here and now, Mr. Garibaldi.”

It was not his place explaining Minbari religion to humans, he knew. But the discussion had left him with the urgent need to meditate. With a short bow to his companion, he veered away sharply and hurried back to the Green Sector.

On his way to his quarters, he resolved to ask Delenn whether lending Commander Sinclair all those books sacred to their caste had been a good thing. He now very much doubted that the human had appreciated them… or even grasped the concepts of divinity, rebirth and enlightenment.


	17. Intermission

"Do you intend to spend the next four hours waiting here, Mr. Gray?"

Harriman's eyes left the breathtaking vista they'd been taking in and focused on the man who'd stepped up to him instead. "Four hours? I take it this means our passenger liner's departure will be delayed?"

"Yep. They reported a minor glitch with the waste reclamation system." 

"Well, as long as I can look at the stars here, I'm fine." Harriman said absently. "Spending the return trip to Earth in close proximity of the Colonel won't be much... fun."

"We very much appreciate your help in the whole affair," Garibaldi said. Harriman couldn't help but notice that the painful looking tightness to the set of his shoulders had all but disappeared, and that he no longer radiated animosity, caution and well-hidden disgust. Due to Ben Zayn's decision to assign Garibaldi to his staff, he'd spent quite a few hours in the man's company over the last couple of days. He thought that by now, he had at least a rough picture of his character.

"You are much, _much_ easier to be around like this, you know," he offered. Unlike Lieutenant Commander Ivanova, the chief didn't immediately home in and harp on something objectionable in his words. Words he'd deliberately left ambiguous.

"And I assume you know, perhaps better than almost anyone, why that is the case," was the reply he got.

"If it's any consolation to you, the Colonel's attempts at gaining your loyalty were entirely subconscious," Harriman felt the need to clarify. "He is not sexually attracted to men."

"That is... not as much of a comfort as you think," Garibaldi retorted. "Ben Zayn was obsessed - as you've _seen_ \- and wasn't exactly in his right mind the closer he got to his goal of having Commander Sinclair court-martialled."

Garibaldi hadn't let on anything, Harriman had to admit, at least not for a regular person to notice. Would he have had reason to be wary? Harriman was relieved that they'd both never had the opportunity to find out. "I admire your bravery," he blurted out. "You were the only one among us who held it together. There were so many egos clashing, so many old wounds opened, so many--"

"Strong emotions stirring up a storm?" Garibaldi offered. "I'm not sure I deserve your praise, then."

He'd never felt so much like _drowning_ under surface thoughts than in that final confrontation between Sinclair and Ben Zayn. "Oh, your feelings... I couldn't help but become aware of them."

Garibaldi just nodded.

They understood each other, didn't they? "They are... comforting, mainly. Well-established, calm, durable." Like a favorite piece of clothing, Harriman envisioned. Put on without thought. Soft. Comfortable. "You are open to your relationship changing, becoming more than it is. I feel like I have to warn you; _he_ hasn't made the leap. Yet. I'm not sure he'll be able to do so without some... impetus from outside."

They waited together in the Observation Dome until a message to Garibaldi's link called him away. Harriman breathed deeply. He couldn't help but dread his return to Earth.


	18. Feet of Clay

“How did it go?” He asked her over the drinks they'd finally decided to get together. His, of course, was non-alcoholic, but considering they'd picked the classiest (and priciest) bar off the Zocalo, it still looked like a multi-hued sunrise, tiny umbrella and fresh fruit included. What did it matter that no place on Earth had ever grown blue, spiny ovals with dark, almost black flesh so juicy it left ultramarine traces on fingers and tongues alike?

Her cocktail had enough alcohol in it to please even the most hard-drinking of her Russian forbears. She made a see-sawing motion with her hands and hummed. “It went.”

What was there to say? She'd agreed with him that someone had to talk to the Minbari ambassador and impart on her how little her recent actions had endeared her to Babylon 5's command staff. Even if – or particularly because – the commander would have rather let the matter drop. And Ivanova, as his 2IC, had been the obvious choice.

At Garibaldi's look, she relented and elaborated: “Ambassador Delenn was at first unwilling to admit that her decisions and actions were... unworthy of her. I made it clear that we won't allow the Babylon Project to become a casualty of the Minbari castes' inability to talk to each other. I... suggested,” she took a deep drink, “that she inform the Minbari government they needed to get their house in order.”

“You--you really said that?!” Garibaldi almost choked on his drink.

“You know me. I can be rather direct.” She bared her teeth in a grin. “I also emphasized how little I appreciated her initial reaction to Branmer's body going missing. She could have reigned in Neroon. She didn't.” Not until very much later, Ivanova thought uncharitably. Delenn could have deescalated the situation from the get-go if she'd gently started introducing her asinine idea of explaining it with a bonafide miracle. Instead, she tried to throw off all suspicion with no consideration to the consequences for others. And yes, that included the Pak'ma'ra.

“She helped you with the 14-year-old telepath,” Garibaldi argued. “That didn't, well, stay your hand?”

“Nope.” Ivanova thought that talking to Delenn with and about Alisa had left them both with a better understanding of each other. They'd never interacted much. Susan wasn't an extroverted, gregarious person by nature, not like Garibaldi who had no problems watching movies or rebuilding antique vehicles with their resident two Minbari. She also lacked the core of spirituality that seemed to be part of Sinclair's very being and that allowed him to build bridges to a race that he, going by his experiences in the War, should be constantly battling his animosity against.

“Don't get me wrong, my first instinct is still to trust her. But maybe Minbari society isn't quite as evolved as they've tried to make us believe.” The next part hardly needed to be said. She was sure they had plans together at least every other evening. She had no interest in the details. “I trust you'll update the commander?”


	19. Absinthe

"Can I buy you a drink to say 'thank you'?" The figure revealed by the opened doors of the transport tube asked. She refused to react. At least this time, Garibaldi didn't have his arms crossed and wasn't sporting a manic grin.

"I wouldn't say no to a nightcap," Talia accepted. She stopped herself from adding the teasing comment already on the tip of her tongue and instead followed the chief to their customary bar off the Zocalo.

On the way there, his hand twitched but stopped just short of her back. So he could be taught. She smiled to herself.

After they'd been served their drinks, the waiter made himself scarce. They toasted each other in a moment of perfect understanding before Talia admitted: "You surprised me the last couple of days, Mr. Garibaldi. I've always had the - apparently mistaken - impression that your life was an open book, and suddenly there was your friend on Mars..."

He looked down at his water bashfully. "I come across as a bit of an ass on occasion, don't I? I'm sorry about that. I don't like thinking much about my last five postings. Lise was the only good thing in that time."

"I get that, I do. But---" She bit her lip and found herself floundering. She didn't like the feeling.

"Tell me," he began airily, but the set of his jaw contradicted his supposed light-heartedness, "have you ever had your secret hopes and dreams utterly crushed by an unwelcome dose of reality?"

She made a sympathetic noise and let him continue, shoring up her blocks against the strong emotions he was emmanating.

"Catherine Sakai - you remember her? You've met, right?"

She nodded.

"Well, imagine relaxing after a nice dinner in your quarters. You get a call. It's your best friend's girlfriend. You've never been particularly close - you think she's bad for him - but she's decided to get to know you better or die trying. For his sake, of course." He took an angry swallow of his water. "She says she's calling for your advice. Whether to sink quite a chunk of credits into the repairs for her vessel so she can renew her license until '63, or whether to settle for the absolutely necessary only for the next couple of months or so. What do you think - is there gonna be a proposal one of these days? Does he want kids?"

He looked up. The pain in his eyes was staggering. "You realize you've been lying to yourself. Living in a dreamworld. Ignoring the times she stops by. The way he looks after the nights she spends in his quarters." He scrubbed his face with his hands and continued softly, defeatedly: "You finally accept that you have nothing, that you'll end up alone. You threw away the one chance you had at a relationship. And for what?!

"You wonder whether it's too late for you. And then fate threatens to take away the one woman you might have been happy with if you hadn't screwed it up. But no, the joke's still on you. Because she makes it through. And when you think you can finally grab for the brass ring with both hands, she tells you she's married. And pregnant."

He refused to look up again. His shoulders were hitching but he made no sound.

She reached out to take his hand. He didn't draw back, grasped her tightly instead. His sleeve drew up and a tiny sliver of their wrists touched where her gloves ended.

An endless moment later, he muttered: "Stop it, you're diluting your drink." She laughed under her tears.


	20. The Minutiae of a Miracle

"I can't believe I didn't recognize him immediately," Major Krantz reproached himself. "I didn't fight on the Line. I commanded a station on Sinzar."

Krantz had always admired Sinclair. At the height of the Earth-Minbari War, he'd seen the _EAS Schwarzkopf_ break apart, taking out the enemy, and had mourned the lives lost. But the Line? 19,800 pilots, crew, in anything that flew, from starfuries to barely spaceworthy shuttles retrofitted with pulse discharge cannons, sacrificed in a desperate attempt to save their world from total annihilation?

"I would have never expected _him_ to be picked for a diplomatic posting. Heck, _I_ was just a placeholder for a diplomatic staff who were set to come aboard once the station was fully operational. I already had my marching orders." He played with a stylus in front of him. His next posting, of course, must have been filled by someone else... _four years ago_.

"We're still unclear why Earthdome in its infinite wisdom decided to merge the roles of station commander and Earth Alliance representative," came the cool voice of Sinclair's Russian XO. "But the commander has done well. We're very much considered an equal voice in the Babylon 5 Advisory Council. The squabbles between the Centauri and the Narn ambassador, on the other hand..."

Chief Garibaldi nodded. "Never a boring day around here, Major. Even before you made sure we had our hands full."

Krantz suppressed a twitch of his mouth at the deadpan delivery. "What can you tell me about what's going to happen to my people?"

"As Commander Sinclair ordered, we've made available three C&C techs to run computer searches on family and loved ones for everyone we've evacuated off B4. The commander is still in negotiations with the Senate regarding the establishment of a support fund for any evacuee who needs help to get back on their feet," Garibaldi laid out.

At his nod, the lieutenant commander took over seamlessly: "Regardless, the _EAS Damocles_ will be diverted here on Monday and pick up anyone who wants to return to Earth. Babylon 5 will be happy to add a moderate number of technicians and dock workers to its staff who prefer to stay, but our personnel requirements - and the allocated funds - are limited."

Krantz didn't envy whatever poor souls back home got charged with reversing the veritable mountain of paperwork the disappearance of Babylon 4 must have generated. Suddenly he was grateful for the nomadic lifestyle of a soldier. He'd never put much stock in possessions, never put down roots.

Garibaldi added: "The resident ambassadors are of course intrigued. They suggested a diplomatic function of some kind and wanted to invite you and your command staff. The commander nipped the idea right in the bud. I'm assuming that was in your interest?"

" _Yes, certainly_ ," Krantz exclaimed emphatically. A wave of suppressed laughter ran through the room. "Please relay to Commander Sinclair my deepest gratitude for everything you've done for us."

The chief got up and clapped his hands. "No need. You might have avoided dealing with the aliens, but Jeff has invited us all to a captain's dinner of sorts in the mess."

Krantz resigned himself to his fate. He wondered distantly how long Sinclair and his chief of security had been friends. There was a closeness between them that Krantz hadn't experienced even with his own XO on Sinzar.


	21. Six Degrees of Separation

"My assistant made the mistake of forwarding your call to my extension," Max Eilerson declared icily. "Sam won't like the consequences. But since you're interrupting anyway, speak quickly. The corporation is proud of its good relations with Earthforce. What can I help you with, Chief-- what was it?"

"Garibaldi." The man at the other end of the transmission ignored Max's masterful display of suppressed annoyance like any run-of-the-mill long-suffering non-com. However, there was a glint in his eye Max didn't trust.

Positions established, Max asked more calmly: "Aside from your run-in with Alkarran biotech, Babylon 5 and IPX have nothing in common. Why are you calling?"

Garibaldi leant back in his chair and sent him a smirk. "We've come into the possession of an alien artefact that transfers... for the lack of a better description, life energy between two users. Its exact functionalities are unknown. We cannot decipher the characters inscribed on it."

"Hmm, moderately intriguing," Max drawled. "Send me as many detailed pictures as you can. But first, please explain to me how you came to request to speak to me _by name_."

Garibaldi's smirk vanished. "Babylon 5's commander is Jeffrey Sinclair."

"I'm aware. Career officer, Hero of the Line, blahblah. Far too often featured on ISN. Your point?"

Garibaldi just stared at him and continued: "An acquaintance of Captain John Sheridan and his wife Anna. Who was your doctoral thesis supervisor, I believe. She spoke highly of you when they met in 2252. The commander remembered your name."

For once, Max found himself speechless. _Anna Sheridan._ A name he hadn't heard in a good long while. Had it really been almost two years since the _Icarus_ had been lost on its mission to Alpha Omega III? A rare woman with the patience, intelligence and character to deal with a postgraduate with Max's ego. Utterly wasted on that blond pretty-boy grunt she married. Thank God she hadn't forced Max to deal with that man's presence but the once, briefly.

"Anna's death was a loss for all of us. You've found your open sesame to my tightly packed schedule, Mr. Garibaldi. Get on with it."

Half an hour later, Max stopped his computer searches and ended the conference call with two colleagues who also specialized in xeno-linguistics to admit defeat. "The script on the device is simply too short to translate. IPX hasn't encountered it - or the race it belongs to - before. None of our expeditions has ever turned up anything similar. I'd be willing to do more research if you sent me the device. But if I understand you correctly, your chief medical officer is unwilling to part with it?"

"Yes." Garibaldi sighed. "I'll tell him about your offer."

"If you must." Nostalgia made Max add: "And give my regards to your commander. I'm glad to hear Anna left an impression. She deserves to be remembered." He terminated the call before he could say anything even more embarrassing.


	22. Just a Dream

“It's beautiful here, isn't it?” A tall, robed figure asked from the shadows in a voice that reminded Garibaldi of someone.

The Minbari – and it was a Minbari – stepped into the pool of light underneath a flickering sconce on the wall and drew back his hood. He was sure he'd never seen the ornate bonecrest, the dark, fathomless eyes and the wistful smile before.

“This is Valen's Temple in Tuzanor, the City of Sorrows. The only temple built in Valen's lifetime that has remained until today. There is a statue of him closer to the entrance. It is said to ressemble him very much, although I have to admit that I can't quite agree.” The gentle uptick of the stranger's lips was friendly, inviting. As was the logic in dreams, Garibaldi didn't wonder about hearing a Minbari speak English.

“Am I dead? If this is the afterlife, I have to say I didn't quite picture it this way.”

“Oh, you're not dead, Michael. You're currently in medlab after being shot in the back. The plasma burn caused a lot of damage, but I promise you will survive this. Your friends are at your side. Susan has created a shift plan, if you can believe it.”

Somehow, it wasn't strange at all to fall in step with the Minbari, to start walking together into the dim vastness of the temple. Sunlight was falling in through the mosaic glass windows set high above them and pained a multitude of pastel-colored shards of light onto the cool stone floor.

Their path led them through and finally outside the temple to a winding pathway atop crystalline outcroppings that seemed to go on for miles towards the horizon. Underneath, they saw houses, parks and gardens, interspersed with waterfalls, and a group of children gathering for lessons outside.

“The school was established by one of Valen's first pupils. It is open to all three castes – which was a bone of contention for many years, let me tell you. Many of the children stop by the temple,” the stranger said. He put his hands on Garibaldi's shoulders. His eyes were intense, compelling. “You won't remember this when you wake up. Believe me, I would warn you, warn them all, but especially you if I could, of everything that is to come. Since I cannot, I wanted to share with you the beauty I have found here.”

Garibaldi staggered. It was as though he heard a familiar accented voice from far away, telling him... something about duelling, of all things? For a short moment, he had the impression of a round object, cool and unyielding, clutched in his hand.

The Minbari's calm demeanor was suddenly belayed by urgency. “Mike, what awaits you is but a possible future that you might yet avoid. If what I fear comes to pass, please believe me that the fault for it won't lie with you, but with Bester. I wouldn't blame you, even if it were me instead of _him_.”

The stranger's firm grip was the only thing holding Garibaldi upright. There was a rushing in his ears. The world seemed to be slipping sideways.

“Don't give up. I will always be with you.” He tried to focus. Fingers bore into his shoulders. He thought he would drown in the amber eyes so close to his. “Whatever happens, Michael, I love you.”

Michael Garibaldi woke up to chaos, the Centauri amulet that Londo Mollari had been given by Lady Ladira falling from his fingers, unnoticed.


End file.
